


Mostly Harmless

by chucksauce



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, it's really hard to mix DA's humour and ST:ID's seriousness oh my god, minor mentions of later details from the H2G2 'verse, minor references to original Khan's timeline, not necessarily spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucksauce/pseuds/chucksauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn’t matter how long Arthur had been hitchhiking, he never got used to the constant hum of a space ship. And now that he’d been pulled into <i>another</i> dimension along a plurality axis, he was aboard some sort of military vessel where everyone wore colour-coded shirts and looked nervously at the prisoner at the opposite end of the cell in which he was currently detained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly Harmless

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an art exchange for [intricatearticulation](http://intricatearticulation.tumblr.com), who requested Kharthur, tea, and smut, and gave me a ticket to Dashcon in return. (Totes worth it, NGL)
> 
> I was cheerled by the incomparable [a-cumberbatch-of-cookies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tishy19/pseuds/a-cumberbatch-of-cookies), beta'd by [hollowforest](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowforest/pseuds/hollowforest) and [MrsNoggin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin), who also ran Brit-picking. Thank you so much, ladies!

  
  
  
It didn’t matter how long Arthur had been hitchhiking, he never got used to the constant hum of a space ship. And now that he’d been pulled into _another_ dimension along a plurality axis, he was aboard some sort of military vessel where everyone wore colour-coded shirts and looked nervously at the prisoner at the opposite end of the cell in which he was currently detained.  
  
Speaking of, said prisoner stood quietly, arms crossed, staring intently out of the window that formed a wall of their cell, and had done so for the last hour. Arthur was fairly certain the man hadn’t twitched a muscle. He was taller than Arthur, which wasn’t saying much since Arthur was rather short for a man, but where this man had height, he also had broad shoulders and black hair slicked back from his brow. Just as well--it helped that his cell-mate wasn’t as ugly as a Bugblatter beast.  
  
At an hour and a half of statuesque awkwardness, Arthur cleared his throat.  
  
At an hour and forty-five minutes he coughed politely.  
  
At two hours, he yawned quietly and stretched out on the long bench along the back wall of their cell. He was glad he still had his towel, which he’d balled up and used for a pillow.  
  
“You may as well sleep.”

Arthur looked up, and found that the man still hadn’t moved. He furrowed his brows, tilting his head a bit to study the stranger like a puppy might study a math problem written in silly putty next to a caterpillar doing the hula.  
  
“I doubt you’ll miss the excitement.”  
  
So the man _had_ spoken, then.  
  
“I’m sorry?” Arthur asked, shifting to sit up.  
  
“Don’t bother. I can wait.” The words rolled out in a slow, measured baritone that sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine.  
  
Arthur opened his mouth, tried to formulate three different questions, and gave it up as a bad job. He sighed and stretched out on his back, determined to stare at the ceiling until a nap or something marginally more interesting occurred.  
  
# # # # #  
  
“Ah, good, you’ve awoken.”  
  
“Hmm?” Arthur opened his eyes, confused by the deep baritone, the white room in which he found himself. But it came back to him-- _Oh, that’s right. Prisoner in some alternate universe. Just your average Thursday._  
  
“We’ll have an opportunity to talk properly soon. But for now, be on the alert. Follow my lead.” At this, the man actually turned enough to rake an appraising stare over Arthur’s still-prone form.  
  
_Good Lord,_ Arthur thought. _They make ‘em pretty in this universe._  
  
Then he frowned at himself. Where had that come from?  
  
“What--what d’you mean?” Arthur asked instead.  
  
“What is your name?” The man tilted his head slightly. The movement was somewhat reptilian: cold and analytical. It gave Arthur the heebie-jeebies.  
  
“Dent. Um. Arthur. Dent. That is.” He swung his legs down to plant his feet on the floor of their cell. Beneath him, the ship vibrated competently through the soles of his shoes. He fought off a rather embarrassing flush, busying himself by fussing with his towel.  
  
“You may call me Khan, Arthur.” Khan inclined his head before turning back to watch the stunning tableau outside their cell--one man in a tight red shirt tapping at a console with  a bored expression. “Well, Arthur, it’s showtime.”  
  
# # # # #  
  
After one dazzling display of combat skill (on Khan’s behalf) and another bout of immeasurably dumb luck (on Arthur’s), the duo found themselves, several hours later, aboard a smaller vessel, en route to the middle of nowhere, with 72 bombs stowed in the cargo bay.  
  
For the first long while, Arthur merely sat quietly in the cockpit of the tiny vessel, out of Khan’s way as he piloted them away from what he referred to as a “Federation dogfight.” Arthur couldn’t look at his... well... his new partner in crime.  
  
That’s what they called you when you didn’t do what you could to stop the guy that killed four people without so much as a by-your-leave on his way out. That’s what they called you when you helped him commandeer a stolen ship because at that point you’re so afraid of how efficiently he dropped those red-shirted fellows. That’s what they called you when you helped him load _that many_ actual bombs aboard the ship you helped steal.  
  
But as it became more and more evident that they had evaded their pursuers for the time being, the white-knuckled terror had smoothed itself into a dull, wearing presence--though that could also easily have been Arthur’s exhaustion.  
  
Hijinx were very tiring, after all. Not that he’d really call what they’d just done _hijinx_.  
  
“You seem alarmed,” came Khan’s thoughtful drawl after a while. “I assure you, we are no longer being chased.” Khan turned away from the controls. Arthur assumed maybe there was some sort of autopilot function--space was so much bigger, it just made sense. It wasn’t like driving a car to your grandmum’s.  
  
Arthur, however, couldn’t turn away from the display before them, which was a sort of computerised version of what would, on a car, be a windscreen. The inky black expanse stretched out before them, only the faintest stars dotting their view.  
  
What could he say to Khan? What did one say to a person whom they’d watched _kill_ people outright, with their _hands_?  
  
What did he say to himself, when a very small part of him had found Khan immeasurably attractive while he’d done so? His stomach twisted, guilt and pleasure tightening in a knot.  
  
Beside him, Khan rose from the pilot’s seat, laid stiff fingertips on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur dragged his eyes away from the display to see Khan jerk his head subtly toward the cockpit exit in a graceful motion that Arthur should follow.  
  
They walked in terse silence along the midship, Khan with hands folded behind his back and Arthur gripping his towel, which hung about his shoulders. They drew rein beside another large window. Khan turned, then, falling into a comfortable parade rest: shoulders slack but spine straight, hands still clasped behind his back.  
  
“You have... questions. Concerns.”  
  
And that was the chink that burst the dam, truth be told. Arthur shivered, all the pent-up fear he’d held at bay let loose, his body trembling. “You--you killed them. Like it was nothing. Those were people--”  
  
“They were people with families, Arthur, yes.”  
  
“And they--they didn’t even--”  
  
“Arthur,” Khan asked, his demeanor still locked down with terrible neutrality. “I could offer excuses, justifications. But what you say is correct. I did kill those men. And in return, I have retrieved my loved ones. I intend to take them to a safe haven and live out my days in peace.” Khan looked down to the floor, shifting his weight slightly. “If you would like to hear my story, then I will be glad to tell you. Do not judge a man too harshly before you know his history.”  
  
The quiet reserve with which Khan spoke took the wind from Arthur’s sails.  
  
“If we’re going to have this talk,” Arthur started, scratching the back of his head, “I suppose there isn’t somewhere we can sit? And have a cuppa, maybe?”  
  
Khan frowned. “A cuppa?”  
  
“Cup of tea? To drink?”  
  
“I believe there’s a small galley towards the stern.” Khan stepped forward, a hand at the small of Arthur’s back to lead him.  
  
# # # # #  
  
“Oh, thank God,” Arthur murmured into the steam wafting up into his face. He wrapped his hands tighter around the tea-warmed mug, drew in a deep breath. All those tannins went straight to the pleasure centres of his brain, righting nearly all the wrongs he’d experienced since his last cup.  
  
Khan offered no comment, only a small eyebrow raise as he motioned to the galley’s dining table.  
  
“You didn’t want any?” Arthur asked, tipping his head back toward the replicator.  
  
“I am fine, thank you.”  
  
Arthur was somewhat surprised by this, though whether it was due to his Britishness or the fact that it had been several hours since he’d first met the man and in the interim they’d survived a few harrowing life-or-death scenarios, he couldn’t tell. “I’d rather walk around, if you don’t mind?”  
  
Khan followed him back out into the corridor, and despite himself, Arthur let loose a little giggle as he passed through the doorway. “I’d be ever so happy if you walked through me,” he muttered to himself. It was hard, in any other space ship, not to think of the Heart of Gold at least sometimes.  
  
“I’m sorry?” Khan tilted his head, the faintest twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  
  
“I couldn’t possibly begin to explain it, honestly,” Arthur replied, then busied himself sipping his tea. “So this history, then?”  
  
# # # # #  
  
Over the next few days, the two men had plenty of time to become acquainted. On that first day, they ran through gist of their respective life stories; from there they progressed to theoretical debates and meandering discussions on the nature of time travel and physics--though when it came to those last two, Arthur held on for dear life and really just tried to keep up. At times, he wondered what Trillian would’ve thought, to meet a man like Khan. What Ford would try to get him to drink.  
  
Their route lay to the far-flung Ceti Alpha V, which Khan assured him was a hospitable planet, one on which he intended to keep his remaining family safe from the clutches of the Federation.  
  
Arthur, being as adrift as he ever was when the universe dropped these sorts of adventures into his lap, had long ago given up worrying over the details--a fact which he was certain would make Ford proud, if only he were here now. For the time being, Arthur was content to bask in Khan’s presence.  
  
And what a presence it was, really: Khan was at turns acerbic and solicitous, genial and withdrawn. His moods were as inexplicable as his lack of appetite--the man only bothered with eating every other day.  
  
Even still, each time Arthur had tea, he offered it to Khan, but Khan always politely refused.  
  
# # # # #  
  
“You do realise that once we reach our destination, you’ll be stranded?” Khan asked him one night, a week into their journey together. “This ship won’t have the fuel or the supplies to make it back into the more crowded areas in the galaxy.”  
  
Arthur stared out of the port they favoured for their evening talks. Stars twinkled, as distant as they’d ever looked back on Earth or any of the other planets he’d been on.  
  
Khan’s statement was one he’d considered before this particular conversation, though his thoughts always meandered back to the same conclusion.  
  
“I suppose I’ll just take up sandwich making. I _was_ rather good at it.” His sigh fogged the  transparent material that comprised the viewport.  
  
Rather than prompt him to continue, Khan waited as he always did in polite silence.  
  
“That’s what I was, one time. Stranded for years on some backwater planet in my own dimension, if you’ll believe it. I found a village that took me in, and in time I set up my own little shop and everything. It was quiet. Nice.”  
  
“Do people from your dimension always aim so low?” Khan snorted softly, turning back to the port.  
  
Arthur stared at him in profile a moment, just studying him. He’d found himself doing that a lot in their time together.  
  
“Er--well, not all, no. But I don’t think of it as aiming low.” Arthur rested his mug on the sill of the port, a satisfying low-toned _chink_ marking its percussion against the surface. “More like, I’ve seen rather a lot of adventure, since the day I saw _my_ Earth get vaporised.”  
  
Khan said nothing for a long pause, and then nodded.  
  
“What about you, Khan? When we get to Ceti?”  
  
“Ceti Alpha V. There are several other Ceti Alpha planets,” Khan replied automatically. Then he drew in a deep breath. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it. I have the skills to survive until some sort of basic civilization can be hewn from the wilds of Ceti Alpha V, and once I’ve done that, I’ll wake my family and friends.”  
  
“‘Hewn from the wilds’--we’re going to an uninhabited, uncivilized planet?” Arthur squeaked.  
  
Khan gave him a roguish sort of smile, something he hadn’t yet loosened up enough for Arthur to have seen. It made his eyes glint with a hidden light. “Come now, Arthur. You were a sandwich maker on a backwater planet you crash-landed into. That’s roughly the same skill-set, isn’t it?”  
  
Arthur chuckled. “All right then. So we’re lashing branches together or living in a cave.” Then he realised the potential implications of that sentence, and added, “So when you wake them up--d’you have a wife in one of those pods? Or a husband? I don’t judge.”  
  
Khan tilted his head again in that way of his, which halfway reminded Arthur of a curious puppy, and halfway of a reptile sizing up prey, trying to determine whether or not its mouth would fit around it. “No.”  
  
Arthur smiled, then, smiled and nodded and felt suddenly awkward. “Well, that’s. That’s something.”  
  
“May I?” Khan asked, pointing to Arthur’s tea.  
  
“Oh? I--erm--it’s lukewarm, but sure.”  
  
Khan took a long, quiet sip, catching Arthur’s gaze and holding it until he passed the cup back.  
  
Arthur was certain the electricity that raced under his skin had nothing to do with the caffeine kicking in.  
  
# # # # #  
  
The night before their arrival on Ceti Alpha V found them once more at their porthole, the lights dimmed from the ship’s internal 24-hour day.  
  
“In seventeen hours, Arthur--we’ll be touching down on virgin soil.” Khan raked a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth along the narrow passageway, reminding Arthur not so much of a man walking back and forth but a jaguar ready to escape being caged in a canoe: jaguars weren’t made for canoes, and a man like him wasn’t made for idle waiting, of which he’d had his share in the week between Federation space and Ceti Alpha V at full warp speed. “Are you ready to work the hardest you’ve ever worked in your life?”  
  
“I, erm--” Truth be told, Arthur vehemently did not want to work the hardest he’d ever worked in his life, but telling Khan so felt like he’d be earning the man’s dismissal, which would probably lead to getting eaten by some horrible beast or another alone on the planet’s surface. Beyond that, he really had started to like Khan, against all odds. He found himself wanting to impress Khan, even. “As long as you’re there to show me what to do,” Arthur finally answered, and he hoped that would be enough to answer the question.  
  
“It’s either that or leave you alone to fend for yourself with nothing but your trainers and that towel you always keep on you,” Khan retorted, but there was no acid in his tone. “Why do you carry it with you constantly? Are grown men from your time in such need of their baby blankets?”  
  
Again, the way he said it should have been insulting, but from Khan it felt like a genuine question.  
  
Arthur smiled and stroked his free hand along the length of towel poking free from his pocket, where he had it wadded. Indeed, it had proven useful more times than not. The guide had, for once, been right about something.  
  
“Serves two purposes, really,” Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. “First, you can use it for lots of things: pillow, emergency flag, makeshift rope, formidable striking weapon if one happens to be in a locker room. The upshot there is, it’s light and doesn’t take up much space. Second, and this one I actually have memorised from the Guide, and I quote, ‘What the strag--that’s non-hitchhiker--will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still know where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.’”  
  
Khan stopped pacing long enough to stare at him, and this his shoulders began to shake and his face morphed into the widest grin Arthur had yet seen on him. His laughter bubbled up all at once, escaping him in hiccupping snorts, until he could scarcely breathe.  
  
Arthur narrowed his eyes, his ire rising. He opened his mouth, ready to defend his towel and surprisingly, even the Guide, but Khan drooped forward and clapped his hand to Arthur’s shoulder, attempting to collect himself.  
  
“I’m not mocking you, Arthur, I swear it. My apologies--” he broke off, emitting a high pitched giggle so utterly uncharacteristic of him it had Arthur joining in in hysterical surprise. “My apologies to your towel. That’s rather brilliant, actually. At every turn, you surprise me.”  
  
After another moment the laughter faded, and Khan released Arthur’s shoulder, letting his hand brush the length of Arthur’s arm.  
  
Rather than betray the pleased hum he suppressed, Arthur redirected his thoughts to say something, say anything. “Do you miss it? Being in a place you call home?”  
  
Khan studied him. Arthur ignored the weighted draw of his eyes, of those parted lips.  
  
“A warrior’s home is with his people, his soldiers and his commanders, brothers and sisters and lovers.”  
  
“That’s beautiful.”  
  
“Old adage, but true.” Khan considered him another long moment and asked, “And what of you, Arthur Dent? Do you miss your time, your dimension?”  
  
Arthur opened his mouth to say yes, because of course he should, shouldn’t he? But he realised it wasn’t true, and hadn’t been for some time. Not since Fenchurch. “No, actually. I just get--well, lonely sometimes, I suppose.”  
  
Oh, god. Had he let more slip out than he’d meant?  
  
Because of course, of _course_ Khan would know, if that were the case. Arthur got the feeling he didn’t miss much of anything at all.  
  
But how Khan would receive his statement--that was another matter entirely. Did the social taboos or customs Khan had experienced differ too wildly than his own?  
  
Khan’s expression shifted, into that of a warm smirk, his eyes darting as he studied Arthur’s face, his bearing. “But hasn’t that always been true?”

When he caught and held Arthur’s gaze, Arthur felt his heart beat faster.  
  
Arthur set his empty tea-mug on the porthole sill and scratched his head, turning to face the window, praying the light was dim enough to hide the blush that threatened to blossom across his cheeks. Beyond the ship’s exterior, inky black stretched outward, unimaginably far. Beside him, he could feel Khan pressing inward, unimaginably close. Heat radiated from the centre of his body, the slightest gust of breath caressed his cheek, his neck.  
  
“I have a question, Arthur,” Khan murmured, his voice barely more than an articulate rumble. “Will you hear it?”  
  
Not trusting his voice, Arthur kept his eyes trained outward to the stars, gave a sharp nod.  
  
“Come to my room?”  
  
Arthur’s heart was hammering now, and he prayed to Thor* he wasn’t completely misreading the situation. Not that it left much wiggle room, the proximity and the body heat and the rumbly voice and the way that it all left Arthur’s skin singing with sensitivity, willing and ready for whatever may come. The Logic and Typical Social Interaction centres in his brain went temporarily offline, leaving only the Backup Instinct Generator to run Arthur.  
  
He nodded and mumbled some collection of syllables he was fairly certain amounted to an affirmative.  
  
Khan’s grin was wolfish.  
  
# # # # #  
  
Khan’s room was identical to Arthur’s, given neither had had the forethought to bring along personal effects with which to adorn their sleeping chambers before being captured by a Federation crew and then forced to escape in a stolen vessel. They were small rectangular rooms with beige walls, bunk set into said wall along one side; a small lamp atop a smallish box meant to be a night stand. Another cavity in one of the shorter walls housed a closet, which held the handful of Federation uniforms they’d both ignored in favor of creatively washing their own garments.  
  
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Arthur offered as Khan shut the door behind him. “Very... art deco.”  
  
Khan raised an eyebrow, but ignored making a comment in favor of running his fingertips along the folds on the arms of Arthur’s robes. “Is this some typical pre-coital banter your people engage in?”  
  
Arthur laughed, smoothing his palm down Khan’s sternum, testing the waters. Just because he’d never been with a bloke before didn’t mean he hadn’t been wanting to do that for _days_. Because he had. “Sorry, I can be quiet, if you’d like.”  
  
“Not at all,” Khan replied, leaning forward to trail kisses from jaw to ear. “I’d love to hear the moment you leave off talking for... other noises.”  
  
The resulting squeak Arthur made being one such example of said noises. “Erm, yes, okay. Can do.”  
  
Khan chuckled darkly before nipping his ear, at which point Arthur’s knees turned to jelly and he was torn between focusing on standing and finding a bed on which to not worry so much about standing. Khan slid his fingers beneath the edges of the fuzzy green robe, slid it down from Arthur’s shoulders until it pooled on the floor. He scraped his nails gently against Arthur’s skin as he lifted the hem of his t-shirt, gave an appreciative hum.  
  
Arthur had just enough mental function left as he slid free from his shirt to wonder what in the world Khan would be so pleased about, seeing as he was spectacularly dumpy next to someone like Khan. His abs probably had their own abs. And the man’s face, well. The long slope of his nose and high cheekbones, the ever-present glimmer in his grey-green-blue eyes were enough to have converted Arthur in the course of a week from assuming himself predominantly heterosexual to decidedly more queer, and not having much problem with that mental transition at all.  
  
“You have no idea how attractive you are,” Khan murmured as he leaned in to plant kisses at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “So unsculpted--a raw boulder begging for the chisel.”  
  
Arthur supposed that possibly the chisel was a phallic metaphor, which he was okay with. If Khan took delight in the body of a middle-aged man who had only lost a few stone in the course of being constantly on the run and usually hungry, well, he’d let him have his delusion. He tugged at the hem of Khan’s shirt, eager to see what the plain black turtleneck hid.  
  
It was its own reward, watching as Khan took the hint and grasped his shirt, twisting and flexing to be free of it. And Arthur was right--everywhere he looked was toned muscle rippling in places he was pretty certain muscle didn’t even exist. He let out a long breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.  
  
“Do I appeal to you?” Khan asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.  
  
Was this a serious question?  
  
“If you want me to be incredibly frank,” Arthur replied, sliding his palms across that broad expanse of chest, “I’ve been trying not to think of doing this--” and he leant down to nip at the tightened nub of a nearby nipple, which caused Khan to bow up against his mouth “--for the past week. You’re like some sort of Greek statue--”  
  
Khan tangled his fingers into Arthur’s hair, pressing his mouth back to his chest. When Arthur reapplied lips and teeth and tongue, he found that the solid muscle pressed against his nose--while vastly different from a breast--was its own brand of intoxicating. As was the strength hidden in the slender hand cradling his skull. Desire pooled low in his abdomen, and he arched his back until his hips pressed against Khan’s thigh.  
  
Khan loosed a grunt, then and pulled him up to press kisses against his lips, gladly parted until Khan’s tongue delved in to trace the roof of his mouth, and Arthur found himself relenting, regrouping to suck on it; when his brain drew parallels between that act and another, he knew exactly what he wanted to try next.  
  
Arthur dropped to his knees, grazing the flat of his palm across the erection straining the front of Khan’s trousers. Khan let loose a muffled moan, which was nothing compared to the same moan torn loud and loose as Arthur mouthed him through the fabric. Arthur fumbled with his flies, which finally parted to let his cock bob, full and flushed, so gorgeously erect the foreskin had been pulled back entirely to reveal a plump glans, already beginning to leak.  
  
_In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Arthur thought, and he tried to think of what he’d liked best any time he’d been fortunate enough to find himself on the receiving end of particularly memorable oral sex. With that in mind, he licked a broad stripe along the underside of Khan’s erection before wrapping his lips gently around the tip in a loose, open-mouthed kiss.  
  
Khan stuttered a broken moan and Arthur took that as a good sign to continue. He slid downward, amazed at how incredibly sexy he found the taste, the weight of Khan’s erection in his mouth; equally proud that he managed to take most of him before his gag reflex triggered, which caused a minute spasm that had Khan fisting fingers into his hair. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to relax, tried to breathe, but he slid forward again, triggering the reflex again, before he remembered a trick one woman had used on him. He slid off with a pop, wrapping his fist around the base, still slick with saliva, and flexed his wrist in twisting jerks, as he lapped and sucked at the latter end of Khan’s cock.  
  
“Arthur--” Khan groaned, and if the way his thighs flexed, his hips rolled, and his balls drew up tight were any indicator, he was close to orgasm. “Arthur, I need--”  
  
Arthur pulled off, stilling his hand at the base of Khan’s cock, wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand as he rose. Khan pulled him back into a searing kiss, and if Arthur had felt invaded the first time he’d kissed Khan, it was nothing to the way he was plundered and pillaged now, shown no mercy. Khan drove them backwards toward his bunk until Arthur’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he went down, Khan atop him, straddling him. Without pausing he grasped the waistband of Arthur’s pyjamas and pants and tugged them down in one swift motion, so that Arthur’s own erection sprang free.  
  
Khan lowered his hips down until they were pressed side-by-side between sweat-slick stomachs. The heat, the delicious friction-tinged slide was enough to send Arthur into orbit. Distantly, Arthur wondered if 42 was maybe the number of seconds until this man had him coming, and if so, would that be an answer suitable for the mice--but he ignored that thought, intent on the pleasures before him.  
  
But then Khan relented, lifting just enough to wrap those long fingers around them both, and when they pushed together, Arthur knew he was done for--it was only a matter of time. They found their rhythm easily, thrusting together, Khan’s fingers squeezing them both as his fist tightened reflexively in pleasure. Arthur could feel the build, low in his abdomen, heat and need and the sweet downward spiral of desire. All too soon, he tipped over the edge, coming so hard he saw stars.  
  
“Khaa-aaa-aaa-aan!” he stuttered.  
  
Above him Khan shuddered, his thrusts erratic, and he followed Arthur into oblivion, painting stripes across Arthur’s stomach before collapsing in a boneless heap atop him.  
  
In time they came back to themselves, and Khan pushed up off of Arthur. Surprisingly, where he’d always been sharp-edged and dangerous, he was now soft, solicitous. It was sweet, and it did funny things to Arthur’s heart.  
  
“I suppose I should--we should clean up--” He flashed an almost boyish grin at Arthur, scratching the back of his head, completely unabashed in his partial nudity: his flies still down, softening cock still hanging free.  
  
Arthur suppressed his own smile, and pointed instead to his robe. “There, in the pocket.”  
  
Khan did as instructed, producing Arthur’s towel. “You’re sure?”  
  
“No better way to honour the occasion, I think?” Arthur replied, trying to sit up with some amount of the casual carelessness Khan exhibited. Alas, he was far too British for it, and wound up just looking even more awkward.  
  
Khan dropped to one knee on the edge of the bed, cleaning Arthur as he dropped chaste kisses on his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “You’re adorable enough I could take you again, right now if you like.” His voice held the rumble of a challenge, and were Arthur a younger man, he had no doubt he would’ve risen to meet it.  
  
“Don’t tell me you’re ready for more,” Arthur chuckled. When he glanced down to see Khan’s cock stiffening once more, his eyes widened. “You may be genetically engineered for perfection, but have some pity on us mere mortals.”  
  
Khan chuckled and nipped at Arthur’s ear. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m mostly harmless.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoy making friends with strangers on the internet. Come by and say hi!
> 
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>   * **[Under-London](http://under-london.com/)** , the original serialized novel I'm working on for cheap-as-free!
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> 



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